


All the Variations You Could Do With Me

by babykid528



Category: Backstreet Boys, NKOTBSB Tour, New Kids On The Block
Genre: Addiction, M/M, mentions of underage masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-03
Updated: 2011-08-03
Packaged: 2017-10-22 05:00:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babykid528/pseuds/babykid528
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>He’s flying high on the rush after the show and that’s why he follows the others to the club.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Variations You Could Do With Me

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** Talk of addiction. A brief mention of underage masturbation.  
>  **A/N:** Super awesome thanks to [](http://high-flyer87.livejournal.com/profile)[**high_flyer87**](http://high-flyer87.livejournal.com/) for giving this her stamp of approval.  
>  And thanks to Massive Attack and their song “Risingson” for the title.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Lies, lies, and more lies. This never happened. Donnie Wahlberg and AJ McLean are not mine, though I wish SO HARD that they were!!!

This is not A.J.’s scene anymore. Only it is. But it can’t be. He doesn’t know what made him decide to do this. He doesn’t know what made him agree to come here. Only, he knows _exactly_ why he’s here. He knows _exactly_ why he agreed to do this.

There’s adrenaline after the first show. It’s a level of adrenaline that won’t follow the future shows. They just pulled off the first night of their crazy tour. The Backstreet Boys. New Kids on the Block. And there’s a feeling after the first night that they’ll never get back after the rest of the nights. Closing night will be full of excess adrenaline too, but it won’t be the same. It’ll be weighed down by endings. This is buoyed by beginnings.

A.J.’s an addict. He’s done every kind of drug you can think of. He’s gotten so drunk his liver has wanted to give up on him. He’s partied hard and harder. And he’s only just stopped again. He’s just gotten it under control again. Except the concerts and the adrenaline and the rush of excitement at being on stage in front of all those screaming women… it’s just another addiction. He knows this now. He’s pretty sure everyone else has known it for years. But no one stops him from coming back.

He’s flying high on the rush after the show and that’s why he follows the others to the club. He would never go. Only he would. He would love to be there. He would love a drink, or fifty. He would love a line, or more. He would like to do whatever he can to ride this adrenaline high, to amp it up, except he’s clean. He’s really clean this time. And he won’t give in. So he shouldn’t be here. But he is. Because everyone was going. And if being on stage is one of A.J.’s addictions, being with his boys when they get off stage is an even bigger one.

He’s replaced the booze, the pills, the lines, and everything else with natural adrenaline. His blood only pumps so hard, so fast, when he celebrates alone. If he stays with the guys then their own highs bleed into his, bolstering it, making his pulse rush a bit faster, making his head feel a bit lighter. He needs them. Even though he should be far from this place, taking a warm shower and getting into bed, he can’t leave them. He has to hold onto this one vice.

Nick, Jordan, and Joe are trashed within the first hour after the show. They’re singing louder than usual, laughing louder than usual, faces redder than usual. They look sloppy, sluggish. Seeing it, their excess, actually strengthens A.J.’s resolve to keep sober at the same time that the spectacle of them makes his mouth go dry for a couple of fingers of Jack. Danny, Jon and Howie are drinking pretty steadily, with Brian smiling at their boisterous jokes, sipping a glass of cola. He glances over at A.J. every so often. Checking. A.J. stares down at the glass in his own hands, half filled with watered down seltzer. Good. He’s being good.

The music changes to some fast paced dance song, electronica, and Joe starts hopping around, pulling Nick with him toward the crowded dance floor.

That’s when Donnie sidles up to him.

A.J. glances at him, taking in his laid back appearance. He looks so calm right now. The complete opposite to how he looked on stage. Only it’s exactly how he looked on stage. Donnie’s all energy and crazy attitude, but he’s steady too. He commands this silent authority. One minute he’s bounding down the catwalk, the next, he’s throwing his arms out, completely still, like he expects you to kneel before him. And A.J. really wouldn’t mind kneeling before him…

A million bits of small talk flash through A.J.’s mind. He can’t settle on what to say though, so he settles on saying nothing at all. Instead, he watches Donnie down the remainder of his drink (alcoholic or not, A.J. can’t tell) before he places the empty glass on the table nearest them. Donnie then takes A.J.’s seltzer and leaves it on the table too before grabbing A.J.’s hand and tugging him so he’ll follow.

There’s that authority.

They’re halfway through the thick crowd of bodies when Donnie stops. He turns, facing A.J., looking him over. When he begins to move, it’s a subtle swaying of hips to the beat of the bass. A.J. knows what it feels like to be sedated, tranquilized. He knows what kind of fog that causes. He knows how slow and sinking it makes him feel. Staring at Donnie as he moves like this has the same effect. For a moment, A.J. glances down at his arm, looking for the needle, then he remembers there is none.

And then Donnie’s moving against him.

Before the drugs. Before the alcohol. Before the Backstreet Boys were teen heartthrob sensations. A.J. used to lay in his bed at night, picturing the sweaty clubs, imagining what it would be like to be in them. Imagining what it would be like to grind up against someone else. He used to jerk off into a wad of toilet paper in the dark, imagining how this would feel. His young imagination was no match for the real thing. He’s done this hundreds of times. Maybe thousands of times. Girls. Guys. Whatever. Any able, willing body. Anyone who could move up against him amidst an oblivious crowd. Young A.J. could never imagine how good it would feel. And, again, the kind of high it would be. Feeling himself getting hard just because someone was pressed close against his body.

Donnie slots one leg between both of A.J.’s legs, pressing closer. His body is emanating heat. A.J. stares dumbly at Donnie’s face, watches it contort with what looks like frustration before Donnie grabs and pulls A.J. forward so their bodies are flush together. Donnie rolls his hips to the music, rubbing himself against A.J.’s thigh. He’s hard. A.J. can feel Donnie’s erection pressing into his leg. Suddenly, A.J. realizes he’s grinding his own erection down against Donnie’s thigh. He’s not sure when he got hard, but once he realizes he is, the need and desire and heat hits him so forcefully he could fall over. He gasps into the small space between his and Donnie’s mouths. _When did we get this close?_ Donnie’s hands tighten on A.J.’s hip and back. He can’t be sure, but he thinks he hears Donnie’s low growl beneath the booming music.

There are hands pushing up under A.J.’s shirt. Donnie’s hands. Scalding his skin where they grip and bruise. A.J.’s heart is pounding so hard he’s afraid it may pound out of his chest. Then Donnie’s fingers slip beneath the waistband of A.J.’s jeans. Just the tips. Pressing firmly into the swell of A.J.’s ass. Nails digging crescent shaped grooves.

A.J.’s own hands are clutching at Donnie’s back. Donnie’s wearing one of those thin, black tanks, like the ones he tears off during the show, and A.J. has it shoved up, bunched beneath Donnie’s arms, above his nipples. The skin on Donnie’s back feels hot and sweaty under A.J.’s hands and A.J. revels in it, spreads the sweat across Donnie’s skin. Donnie presses himself harder into A.J.’s thigh in response. A.J. rubs himself harder into Donnie’s.

They’re no longer dancing. They’re just rutting and rubbing and clutching one another. A.J.’s coming before he realizes he needs to. He’s exploding in his jeans, wetting the front of the dark fabric. When Donnie’s fingers tighten and he lets out a choked breath, A.J. knows he’s come too. They keep rubbing against one another until they’re completely spent and oversensitive. A.J. feels dizzy. He realizes he’s holding his breath and he gulps for air, still close enough to kiss Donnie but not moving to do so. Donnie drops his head to A.J.’s shoulder, panting. Before A.J. can pull away and awkwardly sneak out of the club and back to his tour bus, Donnie snakes his arms around A.J.’s back and squeezes.

Unsure, A.J. squeezes him back. Dazed. He’s been in a daze this entire time. He’s not sure he’ll ever know exactly what happened here.

Donnie pulls away. He steps back from A.J. and adjusts his pants. The wet spot on the front of his jeans is as visible as the one on A.J.’s. When A.J. looks at his face, he notices Donnie is grinning.

With a nod of the head, Donnie motions toward the exit. A.J. realizes they haven’t said a word to one another at all since the show ended. Now Donnie’s asking a silent question: _Come back with me?_ A question but also a command. A.J.’s let him run the show so far this evening with thoroughly enjoyable results. He shrugs his reply, still too dazed to smile. Donnie smiles for him and turns. A.J. is expected to follow and he does. The creeping need to feel dizzy and out of control has abated. It’s been fed. He feels sated. For now. He’s sure Donnie’s going to ensure he remains that way for the rest of the night.  



End file.
